Influence
by a knight who says NEEP
Summary: Allegiance with a promising new planet has dangerous consequences for our heroes....WARNING: this story, like Leviathan, is political in nature. It contains terrorist activity. If you think that will upset you, please don't read. Here's chap 4!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Star Trek concept and characters. I own my brain. (Kind of).

Influence.

"It's no longer a question of if," said the young Trellian leader earnestly: "It is a question of when. Trell_ will_ be allied to the Federation: this is my dream. This is the dream of my fellow ministers – it is what we have worked for, and what we will continue to work for until the treaty is signed."

Thunderous applause filled the chamber, along with a few rumbles of consternation.  
_ 'Diplomacy is a good thing,'_ Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise reminded himself for the fifth or sixth time that hour, well aware that his polite smile was beginning to become a little rigid. The Trellians were great ones for speeches – _long_ speeches – and the meeting chamber's heating system was designed to accommodate their far-higher-than-human temperature. Add that to the rigid collars and cuffs of a Starfleet dress uniform and –

"Hotter than summer on Vulcan," muttered ship's surgeon Leonard McCoy under his breath: "No offense, Mr. Spock."

Indeed, of the Enterprise contingent, Kirk noted, only his half-Vulcan Science Officer appeared to be keeping his cool, either literally or metaphorically. Navigator Pavel Chekov was fidgeting outwardly, intermittently tugging at his collar. Even Katherine Bright, the ambassador they'd transported from earth, had developed a glazed sheen to her sharp, distinguished features. And important as these proceedings were – vital, Kirk corrected himself – his thoughts were increasingly flitting skywards, to where the Enterprise glided serenely in orbit under Engineer Scott's command.

The inhabitants of Trell had been in talks with Federation Headquarters for almost eight months now. A proud, intelligent and capable people, they and their fertile, ore-rich planet would undoubtedly be a great asset to the Fleet. The old First Minister, Seron, had debated and delayed – but this Harek, his passionate young successor, seemed to genuinely desire progress. But he walked a fine line, Kirk thought dryly and silently, as Harek directed a glance at the first faction grouping – here sat the older ministers, grim-faced, dark-cloaked, averse to change for its own sake it would appear, and especially to change involving _aliens. _

"So now," Harek said,

"Let's all leave?" McCoy whispered hopefully –

"Shh," Kirk bit his lip to suppress a laugh –

"I'll hand you over to my colleague Dr. Marel Keltor, head of the Land Survey Department."  
Chekov muttered something that might well have been a Russian curse. Bright appeared to deflate a couple of centimeters. Spock was either still alertly interested or putting on a damn good performance. Keltor was an older, stern-looking female Trellian, a conservative to the bone. Kirk had to smother a groan: their contributions were the driest. He then had to smother a huge sigh of relief as his communicator suddenly bleeped.

Slipping discretely out at the end of the row, he opened the com in the foyer.

"Scott to Captain Kirk."  
"Kirk here."  
"Is everythin' alright down there Captain? Ye've well overdue for a check-in."  
"All under control, Scotty. Ceremony's just going on a hell of a lot longer than we'd hoped. No problem." A strange, grating noise cut across the channel momentarily. "Scotty?" Kirk frowned. "Is anything wrong with the signal?"  
"I'm reading some interference, Captain." Uhura's voice.

"Well, find it and fix it. I have to get back."  
"We're thinking of ye, Captain." Scotty had been party to Trellian hospitatlity on a previous occasion. "Scott out."

As Kirk moved back towards the chamber, applause and the mass creak of chairs indicated the speeches were finally over. His heart lifted. He waited until a swarm of movement meant he could enter observed, noted Spock talking earnestly with Dr. Keltor and McCoy standing nearby. Chekov had wasted no time in targeting an attractive young Trellian waitress – Kirk stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder –

just as he made contact, two things happened. First, the captain felt himself enveloped in the light and tingle of a transporter beam, familiar yet alien, then just as he and ensign Chekov dematerialized, they sensed a vague and horrifying impact as the entire meeting chamber exploded into darkness.

A dark mist cleared slowly from McCoy's vision, only to be filled in by more darkness.

'_Damn,'_ he thought, and then, as memory seeped back, profound relief was followed closely by a sense of panic.

The ceremony. An explosion – one minute he'd been wondering if he might surreptitiously escape by an unguarded back door – oh God, it must have been sabotaged! 'All those people…' he felt suddenly sick. 'And I'm alive. How…?' He lay on something yielding and scratchy. He stiff and bruised, but otherwise miraculously uninjured…the air was thick with dust, and McCoy had a sense of being closed in, hampered by unseen obstacles. Somwhere, light was filtered, falling softly in a series of pale shafts, deceptively peaceful.

"Jim!" he sat up, disturbed piles of dust and coughed violently for a moment. "Spock? Hello?" Communicator – offline, figures – medkit, still intact.

"I am here, doctor." Spock's voice – later, McCoy would deny to himself the intensity of his relief.

"Spock? Are you alright? Where are you?"  
"Approximately 34 degrees to your left, six meters forward. With the exception of some bruises and a cut to my left arm, I am perfectly functional. And yourself?

"Fine, fine." Now, as his eyes adjusted to the light, McCoy could make out that they'd landed on a pile of what appeared to be packing materials – crates, made of something like cardboard, a softer filling material . The area was clearly unused – but passageways led off to right and left and – wait a minute - _landed? _

"Spock? Did we fall?"  
"I believe so, doctor. Unfortunately, as you notice, the ceiling above us which comprised the floor of the meeting chamber has collapsed, rendering escape that way impractical." McCoy clambered over to Spock and pulled his arm into his lap, absently using the protoplase to seal a green-bleeding gash. He was functioning on automation. This couldn't be real. All of those people, dead, Jim, Chekov…

"..and the ambassador," he said aloud.

"Terrorists do not discern in the taking of life," said Spock with something like bitterness. "Still, it would be illogical to assume we are the only survivors."

'Illogical to grieve,' McCoy interpreted, 'until we're sure that our friends are actually dead.' As usual, the Vulcan was right. Panic, fear, pain, it would all have to be postponed for now. Take second place t o survival.

"Do you have your communicator?" Spock asked.

"Broken."  
"As is mine, but I believe I could repair it with a small amount of ciridium."

"That helps."  
"It might indeed," Spock raised an eyebrow. "ciridium is naturally occurring in many rock formations. However there is still the difficulty of receiving a signal from underground."  
Just at that moment, a low moan caught their attention. Two pairs of eyes jerked instantly in the direction of the sound.

"First Minister!" McCoy exclaimed, fumbling in his medikt – Harek had not been quite so fortunate in landing. A deep, discoloured mark across his left temple betrayed the cranial impact.

"Take ts easy,"said the doctor, scanning him: "You have a concussion."

"What – how could they – this is betrayal! Murder!"  
"I assure you that neither the Federation nor its allies would have anything to gain from this atrocity," said Spock firmly.

"They…" Harek looked confused.

"Lie down," said McCoy firmly, placing a restraining hand on the Trellian's shoulder: at the same time, a worm of unease began to gnaw in his stomach. Several member-worlds of the Federation had warred in past years with the Trellians – but those days were long gone, surely hate didn't die so hard…

"This attack bears all marks of the Trellian separatist movement," said Spock calmly.

"There are no terrorists on Trell! There never have been!"  
"A rare world indeed that can boast of a history entirely free from extremists."  
"Spock, that's enough," said McCoy. "He's in no condition to argue."  
"Indeed, it would avail us more to consider our escape. Is your tricorder functional, doctor?"  
McCoy checked.

"Just about."

"May I?" Spock took it and fiddled the controls. After a moment both eyebrows lifted. "Fortune, as you would say, runs in our favour. I detect a small deposit of ciridium 60 degrees northwards This passageway."  
"I can't leave Harek," McCoy said worriedly.

"I would advise he come with us. The ceiling here is manifestly unstable, and any part of these passageways might collapse at any minute, barring our return."  
'Or crushing us,' McCoy finished mentally, but sighed:

"Okay. I don't like to move him but you're right – it's safer than leaving him here." Harek's eyes widened as the doctor prepared a hypo.

"What is that?"  
"A stimulant. It will help, for a while."  
The Trellian regarded them with less-than-trusting eyes. He suddenly appeared very young, and very hurt- a child whose dreams have been shattered.

"Very well," he said, offering his arm. McCoy administered the stimulant, and they helped the Trellian to stand.

Author's note: I made up the word ciridium! It doesn't exist, so far as I know, but it does kinda sound like an ore, doesn't it? Sorry science dudes. (Come on, like Star Trek didn't make words up…:P)


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks to my reviewers, much appreciated: especially Schematization, wow you were reading closely! I haven't really considered a sequel to Leviathan but I wouldn't rule it out for the future. I'm delighted you're enjoying the story…so here's a bit more! Same disclaimer applies. Love from Jude x

Influence: Chapter 2.

"You are a singularly stubborn specimen," the fair-haired Trellian female sighed. She was tall, impressive, sharp-eyed, dressed in an old-style martial uniform crossed with a crimson sash. "I say again, Captain: you have two options. Tell your ship to surrender with all hands or it will be destroyed."  
"No thank you," said Kirk calmly.

The Trellian closed her eyes. They were startling violet, blue-streaked, and when she opened them again they were pained:

"Why do you wish for more bloodshed than is necessary? Do you not value life?"  
"That's a quite a question," Kirk returned acerbically: "coming from you."

They were sitting in the Captain's quarters of the Trellian ship _Sarda_: uncomfortably familiar territory to Kirk, not worlds different to his own. Indeed, this separatist leader – A'alya, she had introduced herself – was so calm, so grave and so – _sane_-seeming – it boggled the mind to try and reconcile her with the act she had just performed. And she spoke of the value of life.

"You just killed hundreds of people," said Kirk, not believing it himself: 'probably including my two best friends. You bitch.' Anger was necessary.

"Yet more reason to prevent more loss of life! I am not a barbarian, Captain."  
"That's a matter of opinion."  
"I deeply regret the civilian deaths on Trell, and the loss of your crewmembers. These deaths were necessary to prevent an allegiance which would prove fatal to the True Ways of Trell. Life is of value, but some things are above life. The True Ways are one such thing."  
"Just words."  
"Not just words. I know loss. My partner – my bonded one – was lost for the cause." An expression of deep pain flashed across her features. "The pain of his death will be with me forever, but I would not undo it. Nor would I hesitate to give my life, were it necessary. But the deaths of your crew, the destruction of your ship – these are not necessary. You may return to our base as prisoners – we have technology to erase your memories of this event. After which you may go free."  
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't jump to believe you."

A'alya closed her eyes again.

"You will be returned to the holding chamber - I will as yet take no action. It is necessary that we remain in orbit, cloaked, for the time being – we are in contact with many of our agents on the surface. Please, consider my proposal carefully Captain. I do not wish to destroy your ship. I do not wish to harm you or your young officer. But I _will do these things._ Have no doubt of that."

Considering her actions and the steel in her strange, streaked eyes, no doubt remained in Kirk's mind.

"How much longer is this gonna take, Spock?" McCoy studied his patient uneasily.

"I would estimate a further …..s to the ciridium deposits. However I can hardly guarantee the terrain."  
"All these passageways…" Harek shook his head then immediately gritted his teeth in pain. MCoy braced the arm he kept around his waist in case he fell. "Perfect storage areas for whoever….whoever is responsible for this."  
"There is a possib that a Trellian underground might-"  
"I told you! There are no terrorists on Trell! We abhor violence! There is no underground, there is no-" Harek stopped suddenly and swayed.

"Spock, that's it," said the doctor firmly: "I would be medically irresponsible to have him travel any further. Harek and I will stay here – you go on, Spock, and get back with the ciridium as soon as you can."  
The Vulcan's hooded eyes met his, neither criticizing nor approving.

"Very well," he said at last with a small nod. "I will endeavour to be brief. Keep this." He returned the communicator to McCoy.

"What! Why?"  
"Although they are useless to us, it is possible Mr. Scott may still be able to lock on to your signal. I imagine he is attempting to do so at this moment. Should he succeed, it is far more urgent that you and the minister be beamed aboard than myself."

McCoy scowled, about to argue – what was it with the Vulcan and his martyr complex anyway? But a glance at the wavering Trellian changed his mind –

"Flawlessly logical, as usual," he grumbled, and settled Harek as comfortably as possible against the wall. He ran a scanner over him and frowned over the readings.

"There are no terrorists on Trell," the minister muttered, eyes closed.

Spock continued cautiously, deeper into the gloom. The passage narrowed, shafts of light from the ceiling grew fewer and further between. He rounded a corner and the others were lost to sight – his tricorder beeped as he drew nearer to the ore. A second passageway, a third – and then he came up sharp against a wall that gleamed and glittered with encrusted pieces of ore. Spock allowed himself to feel satisfaction, in a measure appropriate to the find. He chose a suitably sized rock and began to chip away at the deposit –

the rocks above groaned and creaked, weakened by the explosion.

Spock froze.

Nothing happened.

He continued to work at the ore – a splinter came away, but crumbled between his fingers. He changed the angle of the stone.

The ceiling creaked again – a human would've shivered at the cultural memory of ghosts.

At last, Spock stood holding a sufficient quantity of ciridium. He rubbed the soft stone away – the element remained in slender, malleable strands, well-suited to the business of repair. He left and retreated the way he had come, back towards the doctor and Harek –

McCoy stood up with a relieved expression as Spock entered the corridor, just as a groan and a crash shook the passage and the ceiling collapsed between them.


	3. Chapter 3

Glad u like! Reviews make faster updates – please feed the author! ;) Same disclaimer applies.

"Ve must be able to reason vit dem! Dey are intelligent beings!"  
"I'm open to suggestions, Mr. Chekov," said the Captain wearily – he and the young navigator were held in a comfortable prison. Padded chairs, a table with food and drink, an adjacent bathroom – entirely cleared of blades and dangerous substances, of course. There was even a viewing screen, from which they looked out on the view of Trell below.

If not for the armed guards and cameras recording their every move and word, they might almost have been on holiday. Phasers and communicators, obviously, were forfeit – for a while it looked as though Chekov might try taking on the guard with bare fists, purely out of frustration. Kirk had told him to sit down and conduct himself properly. The ensign's spirit could at times be very heartening – at times like this, it grated.

The door buzzed open. A'alya stood in the doorway, flanked by more guards.

"Time grows short, Captain," said the separatist leader softly. "We cannot main our cloak indefinitely. Soon it will be necessary for us to leave orbit. I must press you for a decision."  
"My mind is unchanged. No surrender."

A'alya sat down. Gone was the soldier – her posture was open, face reasonable – one commander to another. Guards edged in behind her surreptitiously.

"Why not? Are there some terms you desire met? Some agreement we can reach?" She glanced from one to the other.

"Ve do not bargain with terrorists," Chekov said.

A'alya closed her eyes. "You insist on that word. Yet have you never destroyed an enemy ship, even a hostile fleet? Would you not destroy a whole planet if it threatened everything you held dear? Would you not then be decorated – hailed as heroes – yet when we defend that which is dearer to us than life – then we are terrorists? Criminals?"  
"You are criminals when you murder innocent civilians."  
"And you will not be, if you condemn your crew to death?"

A clatter. Suddenly, Kirk's communicator appeared on the table between them. He was half-tempted to grab it, hail Scott and –

- six guns were pointed at him and Chekov, silently and simultaneously.

"Tell your people to surrender," A'alya pleaded softly. "All life is preferable to no life – is that not your belief?"  
The communicator waited on the white surface between them.

No-one spoke or moved.

"Spock! Spock answer me!"

Coughs. Then: "I am undamaged, doctor. Are you or the minister harmed?"  
"No, the rock fall missed us too. Just choking on the dust…."  
"We are now in some difficulty."  
"You can say that again!"  
"I can pass the ciridium through a crack here in the rock. Do you think you will be able to repair the communicator yourself, by following my instructions?"  
McCoy shifted uneasily. "I'm no engineer Spock. Why don't I just pass you the communicator?"  
"I do not see a large enough opening. Attempting to move any of these rocks even fractionally would be manifestly unsafe."  
"Then it looks like I don't have much of a choice, doesn't it?"  
"I shall pass the material through."  
McCoy cupped his hands to receive the ribbon-thin elements. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to the Trellian. Harek's dark eyes had taken on a glazed look now, and his breathing was laboured. 'Could just be pain…or the scanner might not be functioning correctly. He might have a fractured skull…internal bleeding we don't even know about…' A familiar sick feeling. Aside from the personal and professional concern of a physician, if there was one thing McCoy didn't need, it was a negligence suit from the Trellian high council. They had to get out here, and fast.

"Okay, Spock, I have the metal. Now tell me what to do."

"Open the front panel of the communicator by sliding the switch underneath. You should see a red wire and blue wire, both connected to a circular power centre."  
"Uh huh."  
"Above both of these is a minature circuit board, to which the red wire should be connected."  
"But it's not."  
"Affirmative. Now, this will be delicate operation. You need to extract the broken end of the red wire and twist a small amount of ciridium around the filament. Then, grip the wire by the plastic coating. Insert the wire back into it's connection point at the circuit board, which is marked with a triangular symbol."  
"That thing? My God, I can barely see it!" This was not his forte. Minute surgical procedures he could handle with confidence, down to the reconstruction of cells – somehow, having a palm-sized electrical box as a patient was infinetly more difficult.

"As you make the connection, doctor, do not touch the metal. If you do you may be electrocuted."  
"Anything else?"  
Pause. "If it would give you confidence, I could call upon one of your own superstitions and….wish you luck?"  
McCoy wasted several seconds trying to decide if that was a Vulcan joke, then a small noise of anguish from Harek brought his attention online. With infinite care, he pinched the red wire and extracted it, regarded with dislike the piece of filament torn in the fall. He chose a thin strand of ciridium, twisted it round the metal – drew his hand back and regarded his handiwork.

"Now pinch the plastic!" Spock urged, watching him through the crack: "If you are properly insulated it is illogical to fear you will be harmed!"  
"Tell that to my nerves." McCoy steeled himself, took the wire by the coating, and inserted it into the circuit. He yanked his hand back like the metal was red hot:

"Excellent, doctor." It was impossible to tell if Spock was being ironic or not. "Now it simply remains to test it."  
" If this doesn't work…" McCoy glanced to his patient and back. Then:

"McCoy to Enterprise, Enterprise come in!"  
Static only.

"Well, that's that."  
"Keep trying!"  
"Enterprise? Enterprise? Uhura, do you read me?" He did what he did next on impulse. Spock might not have tried it. On the other hand, he might have seen some obscure logic in the attempt that the doctor missed entirely.

"McCoy to Kirk! Jim come in!"

A breath drawn.

"This is Commander A'alya, of the separatist vessel _Sarda_. We hold Captain James Kirk and his navigator as our hostages. State the purpose of your communication." Shock, elation and anguish flashed in quick sucession through McCoy's mind. Not Jim – they were alive – they were captives.

"Close the channel," a voice rasped suddenly from beside him. McCoy jumped –

"Harek?"  
"Close the channel!" The Trellian commanded viciously, and lunged for the communicator. McCoy snapped it shut instinctively.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"A'alya." Harek leaned back against the wall, exhausted by his effort. "Not her."  
"You knew about the separatists," McCoy accused.

"We all know."  
"Why didn't-…?"  
"Their existence is not to be acknowledged. They are no longer Trellians. They are nothing."  
"I'd say they just made their existence pretty damn clear, wouldn't you!"  
"A'alya…" Harek's eyes closed. He appeared to be conducting some intense inner struggle, a debate with himself. Then: "Listen." Now his voice was stronger. "I know this network. A'alya and I, once…but times were hard, and she changed. In the early days, she told me some things – and I told her not to listen to the lies. But she was gone. They won her. Before she left me, I learned some things about the nature of the separatist movement. Their organization is carefully structured – they do not know the names of their leaders, or who there comrades are. It means that they cannot confess – when – we catch one." He drew a deep breath, battling with deep pain, not just from injury but from a sickness he was forced to acknowledge, a pestilence that festered in the world he loved so dearly. McCoy felt a sharp twinge of sympathy. 'They can scarcely bear to acknowledge this to themselves. To admit these things to aliens – it must be – torture.'

"There is a chance," Harek said, coming back to the present: "That I can beguile A'alya. She always believed that I would 'come around'…she wants this. If the codes are unchanged – I can get aboard that vessel, pose as one of them and – initiate self-destruct. Listen to me. The _Sarda _is a standard-design Trellian Fleet vessel. The separatists commandeered her. I know the layout like the back of my hand – I've done three years compulsory service."  
"You'd die!" And so would Jim and Chekov. I'm sorry, but I can't give you permission to sacrifice the life of my captain and fellow crewman." McCoy held the communicator out of reach.

Harek smiled faintly. "Trellians love life. But there are some things we hold dearer." With a startling, abrupt movement, he summoned his strength and stood. Spock shouted a warning. But McCoy was too surprised to react fast enough as a sharp hand came down on the back of neck, and then there was dark for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi, same disclaimer, hope u enjoy, bye…

When the communicator beeped, the impulse to reach out and grab it was so strong that Kirk was only just restrained by a Trellian guard on either side of him. Aa'lya, raised her eyebrows, picked it up and opened the channel:

"McCoy to Kirk! Jim come in!"

Chekov opened his mouth to shout something but a large guard clamped a hand firmly over his mouth. A'alya spoke calmly, in a voice that brooked no contradiction:

"This is Commander A'alya, of the separatist vessel _Sarda_. We hold Captain James Kirk and his navigator as our hostages. State the purpose of your communication."

Mutters – words they couldn't hear, then the channel closed.

"You have resilient friends, Captain," said A'alya in mild surprise. "We have disabled ship-to-ship communication until you are ready to co-operate: that call came from the surface."  
'Alive!' Kirk thought exuberantly, McCoy at least. And somehow, irrationally, he could not believe Spock dead if the two of them were together. He imagined the Vulcan's look of polite disapproval: 'an entirely illogical conviction.'

"I am afraid," said A'alya, rising, "That your time is up. We cannot afford to remain in orbit any longer. Ga'ar, Siyat," she gestured to a couple of her henchmen. "Last chance, Captain."  
"Wait!" Kirk closed his eyes. There was no suicide missions – surrender was better than death, for the hundreds of men and women aboard the USS Enterprise, even if not for himself.

"Keptin!" exclaimed Chekov. "We can't-"  
Just at that moment, the communicator beeped again. Keeping an eye on both of her prisoners, A'alya flipped it open.

"Sarda."  
"A'alya." A different voice: strained, controlled other choice. He had never believed in, eloquent. Somehow familiar….Kirk couldn't place it. A'alya evidently could. She paled abruptly and almost dropped the communicator:

"Harek," she whispered.

'Harek…' Kirk's eyes widened. Of course! That was the voice of the young Trellian first minister. Anger roiled in his stomach. He had liked that Harek, had trusted him…obviously too soon.

"A'alya," the voice came again. "I am with you. I have managed to escape from the Federation men holding me prisoner. Beam me up now before they come. The codeword is _tiaghat_."

"Harek…no!" Bitterness flashed across the woman's features. "You are not one of us!"  
"I am one of you,_ rel-sai._ I have been for many years. How do you think I managed to infiltrate the council? Beam me aboard, now – alone. I am unarmed. If you do not they will kill me when they find me."  
A rapid pageant of emotions flashed across A'alya's features. Then something inside her snapped. "Ga'ar, Siyat, transporter room, now. You two remain on duty." She nodded once to the guards keeping watch on Kirk and Chekov, then disappeared into the corridor.

Harek moved slowly, carefully beside A'alya, trying not to betray his injuries. If she knew he was hurt she would take him for treatment at once. And all this depended on timing, to the last split second. If the first part of his plan failed – well then, all would die. But if there was a chance to save the representatives of Starfleet – he would take it. Grief at the twisted images of his home outer worlds would develop gnawed at him – just for the actions of a few desperate Trellians. But if his plan worked…'the universe will know the true meaning of what it is to be Trellian.' Comfort in death.

"I knew you would come around," A'alya was beaming. She was still heart-breakingly beautiful. The fire of ardency lit up her violet-streaked eyes like electricity.

He loathed what she had become.

"A certain amount of secrecy was necessary," he said calmly.

"Yes," she nodded. "One day, _rel-sai, _no more secrecy will be necessary. Trell will embrace the True Ways again, free of contamination."  
"Yes," he said woodenly, saw his chance – and set off at a mad dash. A'alya gave a brief cry of anguish and somewhere an alarm sounded – the guards were already after him. His vision dimmed and wavered. 'No! By the gods, just a little longer…' a wall came up abruptly as a wave of nausea assailed him. Harek turned and drew a small stun-gun from his torn ceremonial robe, took out the two guards who were hot on his heels and lurched towards the brig. One door-guard he stunned before the separatist could move – the other raised a gun to him but the Starfleet captain took him out from behind.

"Harek?" asked the man, wide-eyed, catching the Trellian as he staggered. Alarms screamed in their ears. "No time – beam aboard your ship, NOW! Your friends are beneath the council chamber!" He threw the doctor's communicator to the floor and the Captain scooped it up. Then he turned, whirled and raced off down the corridor, flinging his cloak backwards to slow up the new guards who were already following.

He made for the engine room.

"I have them, Captain! Both of them. They look fine."

Engineer Montgomery Scott grinned happily over his controls.

"Beam them aboard, Mr. Scott," said Kirk with relief, and watched as two sparkling hazes of light on the transporter platform materialized into his friends. Both were dirty, dust-covered, somewhat bruised, but more-or-less intact.

"Jim!" was the first word out of McCoy's mouth, then: "He pulled it off!"

"That remains to be seen," said Spock gravely. "He may have illogically sacrificed his true end in order to save our lives."  
"Illogically-!" McCoy spluttered. "How can you…!"

"Indeed, from Harek's perspective. Remember, the Trellians hold certain values dearer than life – our friend certainly does."  
"Pulled what off?" Kirk asked in total confusion. "Will somebody fill me in? What was Harek doing over there on the _Sarda?_ Is he on our side or not?"

Spock and McCoy exchanged glances.

"I do not believe," said Spock carefully, "That it would be fitting to assign the First Minister to either our 'side' or the separatists'."  
"Captain!" Uhura hailed them suddenly from the bridge. "Sensors read an explosion! It looks like a ship, sir, in close proximity to Trell…total destruction…no survivors."  
"He did it," McCoy said, shaking his head.

"He blew it up?" exclaimed Kirk.

"That was his plan."  
"More death," observed Spock without inflection. "A dark day in the annals of Trell."  
Over the bright-glowing orb of the planet below them, a haze of stars gleamed and glittered oblivious to the slowly spreading debris of the _Sarda._

"Therefore," said the grave Trellian woman, "Trell thanks the Federation gratefully for its assistance during this time. However, it is decreed that until the radical separatist movement is adequately suppressed, alliance would not be desirable or producitve. The Honour Rites for my predecessor, Former First Minister Harek, are to be held tomorrow at the council chambers. You and your senior officers are welcome to attend."  
"We should go Jim," McCoy said quietly. "This is one Trellian ceremony I actually need to see."  
Kirk looked to Spock.

"I believe that it would be…appropriate," said the Vulcan.

"We'll be there," Kirk told the new First Minister Yuran, 'HQ will understand.' The Trellian woman acknowledged gracefully, and Kirk closed the channel.

"It's frightening," said McCoy, "To see that terrorists can wield so much power."  
"Not power," said Kirk.

"What d'you mean?"  
"Don't call it a power. While Trell remains Trell, barbarism will never be a power there. When Harek risked his life to save us – that was the spirit of Trell. The council is a power. All that separatists like A'alya can be is a dark, destructive influence."

"Yet influence spreads," said Spock calmly: "slowly and pervasively, through many channels, until one day the ruling power is undermined enough to be overthrown, and so a new power rises."  
"I can't believe that will happen on Trell,' said McCoy firmly.

"Perhaps, in time, we shall know."

End.


End file.
